


Voice of the Hound:

by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer)



Series: Dagor Dagorath [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, The Feanorians are not nice Elves, The Sons of Feanor are their own warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightdancer/pseuds/VladimirHarkonnen
Summary: Lúthien  and Arwen are enjoying a lazy day during the brief blessed time of Morgoth's stupor when Lúthien falls into the paths of nightmare.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë/Lúthien Tinúviel, Curufin | Curufinwë/Lúthien Tinúviel
Series: Dagor Dagorath [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979809
Kudos: 3





	Voice of the Hound:

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilya_Boltagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/gifts).



_In the woods near the House of Last Resort:_

This had once been the clearing where Arwen had hid, when she had fled Lúthien seeking to help her, and managing at last to crack so many things that Arwen still marveled at them. Lúthien herself marveled, too. From a poorly considered decision she had begun to heal a breach, cautiously and slowly, and to defy the Dark in so doing. They spent time working to master blades (it had been a long and fortunate time since she had had cause to truly wield one, but that time had passed). They spent time dancing and learning flexibility in ways that otherwise made little sense. 

Arwen's dress was near them, carefully laid out in a way that she could hand it to her, her descendant sleeping near her in her form as the massive bear-dog like shape she took. The one that she'd spent so much time in in the woods. It was a form little shy of Huan's own size, and she was grateful for that. It meant she curled up next to a nice fluffy warm form, and felt safe, protected, even. Her descendant had done what she had not, faced Morgoth in a direct confrontation of raw strength and driven him away. She had brought back the Sun....and lazy days in its warmth, the rays shining like stabbing swords of light down the canopy of the forest.

The beasts rejoiced, they sang and chirped and chorused in honor of the Elven princess who'd fought the Dark and driven the Dark back to the snows and freezing hellscapes of the North.

Lúthien felt calm and loved, and knew that this was a fragile thing. So recently as a few weeks ago it had been non-existent, Arwen had suffered such horrible things in the hands of Morgoth that she had feared they would never be able to just......she brushed against Arwen's fur slightly and the great bear-dog rumbled with a soft growl that spoke of the affection that her more Elven shape could not quite display. 

She smiled, and sank into the path of Dreams. Yet not all Nightmares, nor even most of them, were the direct and willful element of Morgoth Bauglir, and the worst kinds of nightmares were those of old ghosts roused from slumber by recent nightmares.

_Nargothrond, Dungeons:_

_Everything was going so wonderfully, dreadfully right for the two sons of Fëanor. They had captured her when she was trying to sneak past Nargothrond. Her mother and even her father could hide from the sight of others but she had not. Now she was here, in their little dungeon. Curufin was the one who'd taken the last look at her, amused at how she'd stared at him with worry and a hint of revulsion at the ways his eyes had traversed her body. Curufin was his father's miniature in the next generation, in all ways save his brilliance (and in most ways he resented this most. For it was precisely this that he had always wanted and would never have)._

_He was dour, wrathful. and had more than a bit of a violent streak much of the time. And in this too he was much as his father, as his hands clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his blade showed. So too did the little twitches in his muscles. He had captured the child of Doriath and he had not had the chance to fully work his will on her, with his brother, but that would come. And sooner, rather than later._

_He let himself smile at the memory of the feel of his hand on the curve of her arse, the way she'd stared at him with such a weak and effete shock. And then worse at the brother who'd let his hand 'accidentally' brush her breast, and at that point she'd seemed to freeze, making the sharp blow to her head from the hilt of his brother's blade a simple matter of the strike._

_And now she was in their dungeon._

_\--------_

_Huan relaxed near a window near the dungeon. He was a loyal guard dog to Celegorm, now. Once they had hunted together, and they had been more friends than what they were now. The Oath, the words his master had spoken, had set a shadow on the two-legs. They had fallen, once, in the Kinslaying. He had, to his shame, been by Celegorm's side then. He had seen the fair-haired son of Fëanor hew his way through women and children as impartially as through warriors. He had not turned back then, and that guilt haunted him sometimes. In truth, since he had come here, he had thought more like the dog he seemed to be than what he was, and he knew with a sense of trepidation what these thoughts must mean, this clarity.  
_

_Thrice in his life was he fated to speak, the third time of which would be his death. Death, to be fair, would 'merely' mean a time in the Halls of Mandos, but that was a thing he neither understood nor wished. The Lord of those Halls was a dour and forbidding person, and he had no desire to see Lord Namo, nor the shame of doing so falling to of all creatures a mere whelp of Morgoth. He looked at the girl in the cell. She was curled up with her arms around her legs, her shoes on the ground, as if she wanted to seem small. He knew what this meant, these thoughts that were as if he were still unclad in the Halls._

_His death drew near, the time to return to Mandos, and this little Elven whelp with the dark hair was a part of it. He would suffer because of her. He knew that intimately. And in a single moment of spite, as he feared that which he did not understand nor did he want to understand, the Huan who was soon to speak wished that the girl would know something of true suffering and even death itself, too._

_She saw him, then, and stood up to try to speak to him. He snarled at the two-legs in a cold growl and she paled and sat down, clutching her hands tightly._

_\-------_

_A few hours later, after quiet talks with various people in case the son of Barahir or other enterprising figures like Daeron of Doriath, should seek its missing princess, Celegorm and Curufin were sitting at a table, quaffing wine._

_It was a fine draught, too, one harvested by the skilled agrarians of Nargothrond. The Cave-King may have been a troglodyte, but he did know how to grow fine vineyards and to produce fine fruits._

_"The Dwarves," grumbled Celegorm, brushing some of his fair hair out of his eyes._

_"What about the little stunted pigs?" Curunfin's voice was sweeter than his, but the malice was deeper._

_"They have what they call beer. I've tried some of it. Have you?"  
_

_"I can't say I'm entertained at the prospect of grog from those little stone-men."_

_Celegorm grunted a single sharp bark of laughter._

_"Well, it's a heady thing, Dwarf-beer. Sticks to the ribs. I've heard tales they can live on it alone, and that to be a brewer in their culture is to be as a bard in ours."_

_Both of them laughed._

_"Can you imagine a Dwarf with a harp or a trumpet? What would it do with it?"_

_Both laughed louder, the wine coursing through their blood._

_Then their thoughts traversed the same direction, to their prisoner._

_"Now we have the Faerie Princess in our dungeon, brother."_

_Curufin, so like their father where he was not, nor like any of his brothers, nodded._

_"What do we do with her?"_

_"At the very least we gain an alliance with Doriath and make that arrogant whelp Thingol learn to respect his betters."_

_"Well of course. He ruts with a Maia and he thinks himself superior to us. Bah!"_

_And Celegorm slammed his goblet down with an ugly sneer on his fair face._

_"Rutting with a Maia, indeed. That Queen must be sick in the head by her own kind. To become incarnate as a mortal, to produce offspring...."_

_He shook his head._

_'When the fell beasts of the Great Enemy do this they are condemned and made monstrous and rightly so."_

_Curufin nodded, a thicker element of malice creeping into his voice._

_"And when she futters a Noldo prince she is the hero."_

_Both laughed again, taking a deeper draught of the wine._

_"She's not really one of us, you know."_

_It was Curufin who actually broached the topic with a strange kind of grin on his face and an ache between his legs that gave him a kind of thrill he didn't understand, not then, and not fully._

_"She's a monster, no less than an Orc. She has no rights to be seen as an Elf, or even a Man."_

_Celegorm raised his goblet in a mocking salute. "Or even those beer swilling digger-rats with the great beards."_

_Both laughed. Celegorm continued:_

_"If this was the heir of Turgon I was thinking this about, it would be a great crime to stain our souls even in Mandos's jail. But she's Quendi, like us."_

_And Curufin continued the thought with a malicious chuckle interspersed between his words._

_"If anything we'll be doing her a favor. All that rhetoric of how beautiful she is, it goes to her head."_

_And with that, their bodies aching and a heat that they only felt otherwise with their wives, who would not be told this (yet they had married them even knowing the streak of violence in the family and had given them next generations of children, so they probably wouldn't care. None among their family thought kindly of Melian's little abomination), and went to the dungeon._

_\--------_

_Lúthien flicked her eyes to the door when it opened, curling on herself and trembling with a great fear._

_"Now now," she heard a mocking intonation in the voice of Curufin._

_"You're not really an Elf, you know. You just look like one. Half you is Maia, of the kindred of those who sought to bar us from what is ours."_

_Her eyes widened._

_\-------_

_How adorable, the little monster actually had no expectation to hear this. Both of the brothers looked at each other coldly._

_"Real people, Elves, Men, the stunted folk of the hills, even the abominations of Morgoth that we hew down without pity, they all have a right to some kind of respect, abomination."_

_It was the fair one, Celegorm, who spoke then, his eyes going straight to parts of her body that had Lúthien trembling, a slight stuttering coming into her breath as she tried to back into the wall but couldn't phase through it._

_Out of desperation she began to try to change shape to fly through the walls when a single Word of Power echoed from Curufin and left her frozen, incapable of transforming, and her eyes went wider._

_"WITCH!" he roared. "FALSE QUENDI!"_

_\-------_

_Huan was roused from slumber and he looked then, and his eyes went wide with horror at what he saw._

_\------_

_She was frozen still, as the two Elves strode toward her. They stole her first kiss, and her second, each of them lasting for minutes at a time, the Word of Power that restricted her ability to change shape (and would do so until she slipped out of the place where its power held writ) leaving its impact. They were not good kisses, not the kind that she would come to take for granted from Beren, and had once entertained from Daeron when she was younger. Celegorm kissed her first, a rough and aggressive one and she tasted iron in her mouth, and pain, but he would not break the kiss, his hand slipping from beside her head to her left breast, groping it, groping her, roughly._

_And then further down her body. Still he kissed, and she trembled, her trembles becoming more violent and yet in the end she froze. It was the thing that she would only tell Arwen, when the two had had secret talks in future ages. Arwen fought with the ferocity and lack of wisdom of a cornered animal and was beaten and dominated into submission and needed chains because she did fight. Lúthien's body became a weight heavier than anything, she was incapable of moving for fear that anything she did could make things worse. Minutes of the kiss, of Celegorm's filthy tongue in her mouth, of his hand there and the knowledge that the first to touch her in that part of her body beside herself was him, that it was this, that it was like this seared into her._

_Then he moved away and hocked a bit of her blood to the floor._

_"The abomination bleeds like one of us."_

_She shivered, whimpering, a single keening sound imitated with a mocking derision by Curufim, who pulled her into a second kiss that she again remained frozen and incapable of fighting. Her body was so heavy and she was giving up something only given up to someone one loved to these two people. To beings who were Quendi in form, and supposedly heroes and hammers of Orcs. Perhaps they were because they were Orc-like themselves, capable of taking an Orc's relish in such terrible things as this. Minutes of this horror, of feeling hands there again, hands that knew areas to touch of which she knew nothing, of a terrible heat that flooded her._

_This too she confessed to Arwen, that the sick feeling of reacting to it left her ashamed, and that she had wanted to die a second death when she told this to Beren. Arwen held her wrists gravely and said that this was among the worst kinds of betrayals, but that the flesh did things that were done because it reacted to things, and it was nothing of choice. The bitter comment that she would never have chosen anything of what she felt for Morgoth, even moreso when he made her...perform for him...meant that she knew others had felt it._

_She was innocent, then, and that made it worse. Heat flooded her, her body reacting as it would to the things done by hands that had been married for centuries and had learned much in the way of pleasing women (for where Men made less consideration for their spouses in lives short and violent and brutish, no Elf would remain married for centuries neglecting such arts and little things). Her hips began to move in unity with his fingers and she whimpered in an animalistic keening sound, her fingers clawing at the stone._

_When Curufin drew back, they both grabbed her, the fair by her locks, the dark by her dress, throwing her down. They forced her dress up, leaving her kneeling in front of them, and then the Fair moved from behind her to the front, as the dark drew down his trousers._

_Her eyes went wider still and she started to sob then, trying to will herself to move, to escape, yet the leaden weight of her body and the sheer rawness of her fear was as if she was still there, in that dungeon, hands on the cold stone._

_\--------_

_Arwen twitched in her own dream. She could cross through the land of Dreaming from her path. There had been nobody to help her for long years when she had these dreams, yet she was here now. And she slipped from her path in her dog-like shape, making it darker and more monstrous seeming, to terrify the demons in Quendi shape haunting the dreams._

_\-------_

_As it had been then she saw her first.......and it was right next to her face, she was pale, trembling. Huan was fully awake now and he was snarling and the Elves just looked at him and laughed._

_She was on her knees and she could feel things pressing at parts of her that left her feeling sick, her dress torn, her body facing a horror and a shame that would stain her for her entire life. Not even an Orc did this, but two Elves that felt her a monster, and she could read those thoughts, and in this time was starting to feel herself....._

_A growl, much lower and deeper than that of Huan._

_And here Lúthien remembered for the first time a strangeness. They had been so close and it was near nightfall, near a dungeon. Nothing could have stopped them, or would have. They were sons of Fëanor, that lineage never knew that stopping was a concept that existed, let alone did it._

_A second growl and something seemed to move in the shadows dark and monstrous, with eyes that shone with moonlight. Fangs, lit by that same light, in the dark._

_Now they seemed to sense something, and they sighed, looking at her, on her knees, ashamed and displayed for them like the thing they thought she was._

_"Brother," the one behind her said, his voice Elven and yet monstrous as much as any Warboss of the Orcs._

_"Am I imagining that?"_

_Another low growl and there were eyes that shone by moonlight with gnashing fangs and paws coated in thick fur that began to creep into Tilion's light._

_They initially shrugged and Lúthien kept her lips pressed and tried to squeeze her legs shut only to have her hair wrenched back in an effort to get her to open her mouth._

_The growl became something longer and more rumbling and something dark and monstrous moved toward them, with intent to kill._

_The grip on her hair was released and she whimpered, relieved on the one hand but aware her body and her loyalty to anyone were forever tainted. In a dungeon by moonlight._

_"We shouldn't do this when the Moon's light is in the ascendant."_

_The sense of relief intensified, as twisted and false as it proved to be, and then Curufin continued. "Dawn. We'll do it when the night has passed. Then morning really will come for her!"_

_Both shared a guttural laughter and slipped up their trousers, leaving her on all fours and the sound of snarling and fangs, fangs lit by the moon._

_Snarls without the window and within. Silence._

_And then she heard a voice._

\---------

Huan spoke, and where he had expected to fear, he felt only a sense of righteous purpose.

**_Lúthien Melianiel, there is a way out of the dungeon, a secret way used by both the torturers and those who dispose of the bodies of the dead. Go to the far left of the dungeon, find a latch. Move it. There you shall find a door. Beren son of Barahir is in that which was once Tol Sirion. I shall take you there, and even to the very gates of Utumno itself._ **

He sighed.

**_Quickly now. This is no place for you, and may Nargothrond find relief from the monsters lurking near its throne. If Felagund saw this....._ **

And Luthien moved, uncaring of anything but grabbing her shoes. Her sleeves were torn, her dress was torn such that her cleavage was deeper and parts of her exposed that modesty forbade. There was a deep rip in the fabric behind, up to mid-thigh, but she cared about none of this. She scrambled for the latch and moved with shaking trembling fear and weeping, and clung to Huan as if he was the mother she wanted so badly to see but believed herself too dirty to see.

_She was on the dungeon floor, bare thighs against stone and her hands trying to grab it and streaks of bl-_

_A growl and fangs-_

\-------

Lúthien awoke, gasping, tears on her face. She was cold. And Arwen's dress was gone, and she settled down for a bit. 

Arwen strode back in, her descendant calmly stirring up a fire, apologizing to the forest and noting that Lúthien needed its light and begging its indulgence. In truth Arwen found that her vision was strange, the shadows seemed deeper and there were elements of blurring she tried to shake her head to get rid of. Nothing. She shrugged.

Lúthien leaned forward, warming her hands, face still streaked with tears. 

"You had one of those dreams again."

It was a simple statement and Lúthien nodded, the shame visible.

"You've helped me in them, I tried to help you here."

"T-The fangs, that was you?"

Arwen smiled.

"I wanted to scare them."

\------

Lúthien remembered that the day that had actually happened that she had heard clacking sounds like claws on the floor, and had seen a glimpse of gleaming eyes and sharp wicked-seeming fangs. Then she had viewed as a glimpse by moonlight of the future, of Gorthaur's fortress and the horrors that lurked in that place. That was what she had believed then. Now.....

She looked at Arwen curiously, and decided to say nothing. If anything, it gave her comfort that what had been a thing of extra terror, the monster they had said she was staring at her in the darkness as their hands and those other parts of them were against her, physically, might have been something else.

She just smiled at Arwen, and said quietly: "They were scared."

The two women just smile at each other sadly, and did not try to speak much, warming themselves by the fire. When the Moon rose, and they could see Tilion's long grin across the sky, Huan would be there for them, and there would be safety and a chance to go back to the House and to its tents, not woods where demons rose in darkness and in dreams.

\-------

Not so far from them, Tevildo sat by Huan, pensively. The shadow had been banished but some reprieve of the Valar meant he, prince of Cats, was allowed to remain in the woods.

He did not know what he had done to deserve that reprieve, or in truth if he did deserve it. He even got on well with Huan, insofar as cats and dogs could. Which meant beside each other but away. His eyes that shone by moonlight saw Huan resting, his muzzle on his paws, as if dreams lurked within those eyes, too. The Hound of Valinor roused himself as Tilion ascended over the trees and huffed, moving in the dark shadows of a night that was the original intent of Eru, one where Tevildo just looked up at the Moon. Maybe, the torments that had taken him from great feline and taught him the law, not to walk on all fours, for that was the law, and to fear that House of Pain.

Once there had been others like him reworked and reshaped, taught to speak and act like Men and Elves.

Their very souls reshaped. Was there some part of him that had been like Huan, once, when he had come here?

He didn't know. He didn't even know if he could or should pray and then-

The baying of Huan, in the shadows, as the hound stopped. His gaze looked out. The hound gestured with his head and some impatience in a _Well come on, then!_ gestured and a wind moved approvingly, something he could almost hear in it.

A cat's grin on his face, he followed cautiously, not intending to get any exercise of the kind he'd gotten, and curious to see how the Elflling had fared in that time since.


End file.
